The mind spider spins its
spindly
web and blocks your sense from Sense.
And so Sense, she leaves you to
struggle
against the self and men.
The men they do not know
the war that rages
boils
crawls for survival
toward to top of the trench
where "know" lives
feeds, exists only through the
calming of the storm. The cecession of the war.
one small bead
builds the bridge
to salvation through the swallow.
swallow.
swallow.
Dust the spindly web--
woven by the spider,
the creepie crawlies,
the constant humming and
inability of inhibition--
from the ultimate edges of your
hungry, yet intermittantly absent
self; your
"such a good boy when he's on his meds"
"why can't he get a blood test"
"his mother is a criminal not to pick up those pills"
self.
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